


Until We Reach the Stream

by GiggleSnortBangDead



Series: Love Songs [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Being Open and Vulnerable Emotionally, Face-Sitting, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Talking (Both Dirty and About Feelings), Vaginal Sex, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-08-09 20:57:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20123740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiggleSnortBangDead/pseuds/GiggleSnortBangDead
Summary: “This is ridiculous.” Aziraphale at least didn’t move to get up this time. "I love you, and you know it."He kept speaking, but Crowley had stopped listening about halfway through because his ears had clogged up from a sudden rush of blood and heat. “Oh,” he said. He needed to think. “Ah.” He needed to say the right thing, or at least a right thing. “I didn’t,” he landed on, “Know that.”





	Until We Reach the Stream

**Author's Note:**

> > Sitting here flossing,  
peepin' your steelo.  
Just once if I have the chance,  
the things I would do to you—  
you and your body,  
every single portion—  
send chills up and down your spine.  
Juice flowing down your thigh.
> 
> “Pony” Ginuwine 

Crowley was waiting for Aziraphale to bring it up. Aziraphale was the one who'd popped off and tried to annihilate an entire block, Crowley along with it, and so Aziraphale should be the one to bring it up once he was ready. 

After all, it wasn't like Crowley had anything to complain about. Sure, it had been terrifying. One second, they were scissoring—did Aziraphale even _know_ what that was?—and the next Crowley was flat on his back, Aziraphale had more eyes than he should have, each eye was a blue flame, and he was trying to break down the matter which dictated they have two separate bodies. But Crowley had sort of wanted that too. It was just better if they didn't explode, especially after they'd worked so hard to save the world. Especially because Aziraphale didn't know what he was doing.

It was becoming increasingly apparent that Aziraphale was waiting for him to bring it up, or maybe he hoped they might just forget it entirely. 

"Didn't you have any fun at all?" Aziraphale was asking, having just recounted the entire trial and attempted execution in detail—_I called Michael **dude**!_, he'd whispered, leaning in to make the delight he felt evident—while Crowley drank and listened and laughed when he could.

"Ahhh, you know," Crowley said. He'd already told him about shooting fire out, which had been the high point. "That lot up there can be pretty boring." 

"Yes, I can't imagine Gabriel would give you much of a set up for any good japes." Aziraphale nodded, seeming to be none the wiser. Crowley would keep it that way, even if Aziraphale had a right to know. Aziraphale had to already know, after all. No point rubbing it in that they didn't like him up there and never really had. 

_They have no idea what you are_, Crowley had thought, sometime between last night and Gabriel telling him to die. Crowley thought that again and didn’t say anything. Aziraphale shifted, visibly floundering for anything else to talk about.

“The tort is divine,” he tried.

“Speaking of divine,” Crowley started.

“Not here, Crowley!” Aziraphale cawed, completely scandalized. He looked around, like anyone was listening and like anyone listening would know what they were talking about for that matter.

“The champagne,” he pivoted. “It’s all right.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale took a breath. “Yes,” he said. “It’s good too.”

Crowley sighed. “Angel – ”

“I’ll get the check.”

Crowley propped his chin on his hand, watching him signal the waiter. He waited as Aziraphale went on about _how scrumptious_ the meal was and _how prompt and keen_ the service had been. Crowley intercepted the check on the way back, signed, and stood before Aziraphale could stall further by doing something stupid, like asking to talk to the manager. Aziraphale seemed to get the message, and he stood as well. 

He got them back to the bookshop and opened the first bottle of red he found in the kitchen while Aziraphale _ooh_ed and _ah_ed over his new old collection. “This one is in much better condition,” he would say, or simply tut over the state of something else. Crowley slipped the glass of wine into Aziraphale’s hand and then sat patient and watchful on the couch.

“I don’t mean to bore you, old boy,” Aziraphale said lightly over his shoulder. “You don’t have to keep me company.”

Crowley just shrugged. “You can tell me to go if that’s what you want.” He made no promises to actually leave, though.

“No!” Aziraphale rushed, turning to face him. He stopped himself from taking a step toward the couch, hands clasping around the wine glass in front of him. “No, I don’t want you to go.”

“Then I’ll stay,” he said.

Aziraphale looked torn between hiding in the stacks and joining Crowley on the sofa. Crowley pat the space next to him, and he smiled a little at the flushed, small way Aziraphale reacted. His instinct was to sit as told, but he noticed the smile and didn’t appreciate it, his eyes narrowing. Aziraphale squared his shoulders and then came to sit on the far end of the couch, clearly on his own accord.

“I suppose we should talk about it,” Aziraphale finally said.

“What?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale stood right up, back straight, and Crowley had to snatch his sleeve to keep him from marching off. “I’m kidding. I’m sorry.”

When Aziraphale didn’t move, Crowley changed his tone. “I’m sorry.” He carefully took Aziraphale’s hand in his own, the skin on skin contact making him feel nervous. Aziraphale was radiating anxiety, and he looked miles away from sitting back down. “Please,” Crowley tried. “We don’t have to talk about last night yet.”

“What will we talk about then?” Aziraphale swallowed with a slight, dry click.

“Whatever you like,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale re-perched on the edge of the couch, his knees pointed away. Crowley kept a hold on his hand, because it felt nice and he didn't want Aziraphale taking off. “You can give me your rankings on all the little bistros in the area, or complain about the old woman who bought your _Tao Te Ching_, even though you have another copy and it’s in better condition. You could talk about the wine and its frisky bouquet. You could try to explain the Dewey Decimal system again. Anything, really.” Crowley paused, hoping Aziraphale would get playfully offended over one of those strands and tell him off. After a moment of silence, he hesitantly added, “You could tell me about him.”

Aziraphale blinked and thought for a second before saying, “Who?”

“The man you loved.”

Aziraphale pulled his hand away to grab the wine bottle Crowley had left on the coffee table. Crowley tried not to react like he had been stung or burned or anything else too dramatic, even if it felt like that and worse. Aziraphale poured himself another glass. “I really don’t know what you mean,” he said. The pour was more than generous. “You can’t possibly be bringing up Mr. Ballard again?”

Crowley held back a twitch at the name and the accusation. He tried to keep derision out of his voice, and he half-succeeded. “He was important to you.”

Frustrated and huffy, Aziraphale sighed. “Mr. Ballard liked me and I him for a short while. That’s all.”

He was trying to be understanding, so Crowley couldn’t make fun of the stuffiness, he didn’t mock him for his tone, and he didn’t tease him about whatever Mr. Ballard’s “short while” could be misinterpreted as, even though any aspersions cast on the man’s sexual prowess did make him feel slightly better. “But you fell in love with him.”

“This is ridiculous.” Aziraphale at least didn’t move to get up this time. "I love you, and you know it, and I’m allowed to have my small comforts. It felt good to be wanted back, and it’s not wrong for me to have _once_ found _some_ relief in that.”

Crowley had stopped listening about halfway through because his ears had clogged up from a sudden rush of blood and heat. “Oh,” he said. He needed to think. “Ah.” He needed to say the right thing, or at least a right thing. “I didn’t,” he landed on, “Know that.”

“What?” Aziraphale snapped, still pissed off, his eyebrows drawing in a way that was probably demeaning to classify as cute.

“Didn’t you move on from your infatuation with me to Mr. Ballard?”

“_My infatuation_.”

“Uh-oh. I just mean – ” Crowley stopped himself. He took a moment, and Aziraphale either graciously gave him his time or maliciously let him stew in it. “I think I might have confused something a while back.”

“Oh, yes, I think you rather must have.”

“But then why did you – ” pull back, pull away, stop _acting_ like you were in love with me? He wasn’t sure how to put it exactly. And still there was a drumming in between his ears, beating down through his chest. He put his glass down as the wine was doing nothing to help his trouble and had made his tongue too hot. Something else tingled in the back of his neck, something else he’d heard Aziraphale say: the idea that the love wasn’t shared.

“I love you,” he blurted out, watching Aziraphale’s face twitch, pulled between an obvious impulse to open or close. “I didn’t say it because I didn’t want to embarrass myself when you were hung up on someone else.”

“How could I be ‘hung up’ on a dead human?” Aziraphale asked, still dubious.

“Well, I don’t know!” Crowley’s pitch raised. “I’ve only ever loved one person. I thought it might be how it worked!”

Aziraphale stopped looking so angry and guarded, which was good. Slowly, he reminded him that “Humans can love many people like that. Sometimes at the same time.”

“Yes, but – ” but Crowley couldn’t explain it without feeling as stupid as he clearly was. _I thought the way we loved was different_ was what he would have had to say, which would have sounded terrible coming out of his mouth. Instead he said, “Cranes mate for life. And penguins. Swans and vultures. Loads of birds. Skinks too.”

“Not snakes?” Aziraphale said, knowing full well they didn’t.

“Right, well.” Crowley shifted. “It’s not like I’ve been celibate.”

“Yes, I know.” Aziraphale buried his blush behind his wine glass. 

“It’s good you were,” Crowley said, and when Aziraphale furrowed his brow at him, he explained, “You would have vaporized someone with all that.”

Aziraphale was bright, hot red, like he’d really thought they just weren’t going to talk about it. His mouth clamped shut, lips pressing firm.

“Although maybe that’s just for me too,” Crowley continued. Like the untouched pussy and the mole and the warmth of his soft thighs. No one else would get that, just like they wouldn’t get Aziraphale trying to liquefy their atoms in the throes of coital bliss. And it was all because Aziraphale wasn’t loose like Crowley, and he wouldn’t do that with anyone he didn’t _love_.

“I’m—sorry about it.” Aziraphale looked sorry, like he was waiting for a rebuke or a slap on the wrist. “I got carried away. I didn’t realize it was happening. I didn’t know it could.” 

“I’m just that good, huh?” Crowley teased, feeling an intense pang of relief that Aziraphale no longer looked on the verge of tears. He relaxed into the couch somewhat too, which was a major win. “Make you so wet you want to implode the whole universe.”

“No!” Aziraphale stated with great emphasis and then added, “Maybe just London.”

It shocked a laugh out of Crowley, which was good because it made Aziraphale smile the tiniest bit.

“So let me see if I understand it.” Crowley’s hands itched to be taken, but he thought it was best to not push that issue when there were many other larger problems to settle. “You love me,” he started. “And I love you. But for some reason, you got it in your head that I didn’t feel the same way, and that’s why this hasn’t happened until now.”

Aziraphale shook his head, a finger coming up to sanctimoniously correct, “No, _I_ tried to _make it happen_ 500 years ago, and you made it very clear that you didn’t want me. So, it’s not my fault.”

“Yes, well, in my defense, I remember it more as a soft no. I’d even classify it as a _Yes, later_.” Crowley watched Aziraphale kill the rest of the bottle, emptying it in his glass, still shaking his head.

“That is not how I felt,” and his voice wavered from its schoolmarm scolding to the raw nerve underneath.

“I can only say I’m sorry,” Crowley finally offered.

“So, say it,” Aziraphale sniped, refusing to look at him.

Crowley covered Aziraphale’s knee with his hand, squeezing to get his gaze back. “I am sorry,” he said.

“I was _lonely_,” Aziraphale told him piteously.

"I know. I’m sorry.”

Aziraphale flicked his glance from the hand on his knee to Crowley’s face and then back to his glass of wine, which he took a sip from. “I felt ugly,” he went on, carefully maintaining his pose of anguish. “Absolutely wretched.”

Crowley scooted closer. “Did you?” he asked.

“Unlovable. Hideous. You’d be with anything but not me.” Aziraphale sniffed. Crowley took the unfinished glass and put it down on the table. “You have no idea how dreadful it was.”

“Don’t I?” Crowley pressed against his warm side. He slid his hand up his thigh, groping its full give. He dipped his nose to under Aziraphale’s ear, just to take the smell of him idly.

“For a creature like me,” Aziraphale said, doing his best to maintain his pathetic tableau. “I’m used to a level of radiance,” he whined. “Of adoration.”

“I thought you were designed to be the one adoring.” Crowley breathed the words against his cheek. It was all he could do to keep from sticking his tongue in Aziraphale’s ear, bite at the lobe, and chew the shell. Aziraphale made this funny, little noise in the back of his throat, something animal and dying. Crowley nudged his fingers between his thighs, cupping his chubby cunt through the material of his trousers, giving it a rub hello. “Huh?” Crowley nudged as Aziraphale squirmed and sweat, pressed so tight against him. “What were you made for?”

All of a sudden, Aziraphale had his arms thrown around his shoulders, and he was crying: “Oh, Crowley, I love you, I love you, I love you so, I love you so much.” Crowley’s wrist tweaked at the sudden shift of angle and pressure. His other arm was trapped awkwardly between them as Aziraphale burrowed into his throat and then pulled up to press kisses to the side of his chin, mouth, nose, ear, and temple, all while saying it. And again suddenly there was a rush of wind and the sound of wings unfurling, stretching out above them.

Crowley pulled back, managing to extract his hand and put it to a stop before Aziraphale attempted atomic collapse. “Hey,” he breathed, and Aziraphale sat up, his eyes a little bleary, overly ethereal, but otherwise normal in shape and number. There was no crown of light, and Aziraphale wasn't invading any senses outside of the usual five.

“Sorry,” Aziraphale panted. “Can you make love to me?”

“Yeah,” Crowley drew out, still in some form of awe. “But aren’t you gonna be pissed if you disintegrate the bookshop?”

“Won’t,” Aziraphale said, pulling at his bow tie. “I’ll make the trees outside bloom, maybe.”

“What?”

Aziraphale blinked at him, a childish guilt crossing his face. “I forgot you haven’t been home since this morning. Did you see your plants on the way out?”

“I was still waking up,” Crowley said. All of him felt tight very suddenly. “What did you do to my plants?”

“Nothing really,” Aziraphale said as clear as a bell, which meant he was bending the truth. “They’re a little overgrown, and that might have been my—really, our—fault.” Crowley felt himself staring, and Aziraphale tried to console him. “They still look beautiful.”

“When were you going to tell me about this?”

Aziraphale at least had the decency to look sheepish. “I forgot.” Crowley couldn’t possibly think of a response to that. “It’s been a busy day." After another second, he added, "Don't be upset," tugging at Crowley's thin scarf so he'd lean in for a kiss. It was chaste, warm, and overwhelmingly sweet.

"Butter wouldn't melt in your mouth, angel," Crowley told him, drawing his knees onto the sofa so he could put himself in the optimal position for kissing. 

"You know," Aziraphale smiled, considering it. "I've never thought to check." Crowley chose that as the right moment to slip his tongue into Aziraphale's mouth, to coax Aziraphale's tongue out so he could suck on it. He had one hand braced on the back of the couch, the other near Aziraphale's hip so he could crowd best against him.

"Crowley," Aziraphale moaned once Crowley had kissed and bitten his mouth sufficiently and was content to move to his neck.

"Hm?" 

Hot against his ear, Aziraphale said, "You can't have your shoes on the couch like that." Crowley groaned, flopping back onto the couch to kick off his boots. Aziraphale went at his own shoes, bending forward to carefully remove them and then squawking when Crowley got a grip around his waist and hauled him to his stockinged feet. He got his knee between Aziraphale's thighs, to keep him just off balance enough. 

"Do you have a bed?" Crowley asked, rubbing the hardening line of his cock against Aziraphale's backside. He'd make do with the couch if he had to, but he figured Aziraphale would be happiest on a bed. 

"Of—Of course I do," he panted, twisting in the hold, pulling away and then pushing back at the surprise Crowley had laid against him. 

Crowley worked a hand between them and groped him from the back, fingers pushing up against his muggy sex through the heavy material of his trousers. He urged him forward with that hand, not letting him get more than an arm's reach away as he instructed him to lead the way.

* * *

The bedroom Aziraphale herded him into was small with wood floors and delicate, white carpeting. Aziraphale had a modest bureau next to a tiny desk which held a stationary set and a glass vase with a cut lilac. Across from that was another door, the bathroom maybe. The bed wasn't as big as Crowley's, but it was equally lavish in a wildly different way. A white down comforter puffed perfectly—never slept on—with two plush pillows. Underneath, there was a peek of tucked sheets, heather-colored plaid flannel. 

Crowley hardly had the time to analyze and appreciate the sunny space, but it was no great loss. He'd be back. 

Aziraphale was already removing his jacket and folding it over the back of his desk chair and getting to work on his vest buttons, fumbling as he blushed, eyes locked on the front of Crowley's trousers. Crowley indulged him, groped a hand down and around his package, squeezing it to show off the outline. It was a little much for Crowley, but it made Aziraphale's mouth fall open, the wet of his inner lip shimmering and pink. 

"Your effort," Aziraphale said, although there wasn't anything else for him to say. Crowley shouldered off his jacket. Aziraphale licked his lips, frozen in the middle of undressing, clearly oblivious to his own obvious desperation. As Crowley took his shirt off and started shimmying out of his jeans, Aziraphale asked, "Should I change mine as well?" 

"No," Crowley said before thinking. "I mean, it's fine if you want to. I just – " he'd planned on getting back at his cunt. He'd actually agonized over what size cock he should have, not wanting to scare Aziraphale but also wanting to ensure his pussy was filled correctly. It wouldn't have been a wasted effort, but Crowley had been feeling smart about his completely average–sized cock, which was smaller than his usual presentation. 

"Oh, no," Aziraphale shook his head, finally unbuttoning his slacks and working them down to step out. "I like what you have." 

"Yeah?" Crowley was naked, and Aziraphale should have been too, but he wore so many layers and he kept getting distracted, so Crowley helped him with his shirt buttons, while Aziraphale attempted to covertly stare at his dick. "I like yours too," Crowley said, snapping Aziraphale's waistband once to get him to finally take off his drawers.

"I can—touch it." Aziraphale said. It obviously wasn't a question, because Crowley's cock was there and pink–headed and really just begging to be touched. But he didn't seem sure, and there was a level of wariness, like the cock was something that might bite him. 

"You can do whatever you like with it," Crowley breathed as Aziraphale carefully slid out of his ridiculous trunks. Whatever pussies Aziraphale had seen had obviously been natural, because there was downy, soft blonde curls framing the creases of his thighs and his pubis, exalting upwards to join in the light happy trail on his lower stomach. Every inch of him was lily white, except his baby pink nipples, the soft brown mole under them, the rosy beds of his nails, and the coral blush of his inner lips. "It's for you," he added when Aziraphale seemed uncertain about the offer.

"Will you get on the bed, then?" Aziraphale gestured, like he was holding a door open for him.

"How were you hoping to do this?" Crowley sat, waiting for an instructed position.

Crowley liked how flush spread on Aziraphale's face. It started normal—blotchy cheeks and sweat. Then he blushed down his neck and ears, the tips of them a raw, sensitive red. "I was – " Aziraphale's voice creaked and he cleared his throat. He came to sit beside him. "I was hoping you might put it inside me." He took Crowley's hand and guided it to between his slightly spread thighs. "Here," he explained further, and Crowley felt just how gushy wet he'd already become. Crowley's hands were shaking—nerves or tension or maybe outright fear of doing it wrong and making it bad. 

"Do you want me to start the other way?" Crowley asked, watching as Aziraphale laid on his back, scooting so his head was on the pillows, his feet planted on the bed. "With my mouth?" 

"Um," Aziraphale glanced at Crowley's cock again, looking conflicted. "Could we do that after? Oh, but there'll be a mess—unless you want to use a prophylactic." 

"No—I mean, yes, we can do it after. We don't have to use anything, unless you'd prefer – "

"I'd rather not then," Aziraphale said, knees swaying. He was starting to get antsy, because Crowley had let him start thinking too much again. 

Crowley got up next to him on the bed. He got over him, got between his thighs, and Aziraphale's knees got cinched up around his waist. "You'll tell me if it hurts," Crowley tried to make it sound like an order, but it was too openly unnerved. "If you don't like it." 

"And you too," Aziraphale said, taking his face in his plump hands and pressing a chaste kiss against his mouth. Crowley thought his chest might burst. He busied himself by hiding his face in Aziraphale's neck and clutching a hand around himself to guide his cock inside. 

"Oh." Aziraphale swallowed the word and then released a sigh as Crowley nudged in the rest of his by no means impressive length. Still, he felt Aziraphale clench around him in spasms, clearly getting used to being entered. It took a lot out of Crowley to not pound his hips forward, because he'd wanted to be buried inside love for so long. Tentatively, Aziraphale put his hands on Crowley's shoulders, gripping a little and adjusting under him to get comfortable. Then, he hooked his ankles, pushing Crowley in more, and making himself moan. 

Crowley rolled his hips once more, gently, getting in turn a gentle sigh from Aziraphale. Crowley did it again, not going much harder. He'd fucked plenty of cunts in his time, and he'd considered himself fairly skilled at it. But he felt like he'd forgotten everything about it, all of his energy consumed by trying to cull his own trembling need. 

"Darling, can you go a little more?" Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley did, minutely. 

Aziraphale sighed. "Can I try?" he asked. Crowley blinked. He'd messed it up already. He'd thought about how he'd do this for hundreds of years, and he'd managed to spoil the whole thing. Crowley slipped out, a terrible heat blossoming behind his eyes. Aziraphale put him on his back, and Crowley figured he should start making a new effort. Before he could fully form that thought, Aziraphale got on his lap and sank down on his cock in only a few, fluid motions. 

The sound Aziraphale made was one of absolute relief. Before Crowley knew what was happening, Aziraphale was bracing his palms on his chest and slamming his hips back down, crying out. 

Crowley just had to watch for a few seconds because it was astonishing. Aziraphale was riding his cock, already hard and fast, his little tits jiggling which each bounce. His eyes were closed, eyebrows raised, lips parted as he used Crowley to rub at what had clearly been an itch inside of him. Crowley finally got his head on straight(ish) and put his hands on Aziraphale's full hips. 

The first time he thrust up to meet him, Aziraphale threw his head back. "Yes," he rambled, "Like that." 

And the onslaught of noises did nothing to help Crowley's rapidly diminishing composure. Aziraphale was vicing around his dick, one hand now pinching Crowley's right nipple while the other tickled his own clit. And the sight of him—stunning and ecstatic—was too _unfair_.

"I'm gonna come," Crowley panted, barely hanging on but trying to give as good as he was getting. 

"Noooo," Aziraphale told him. "_Not yet_." 

_Oh, fuck_, Crowley thought, because he'd already passed the point of being able to help it. "I'm gonna _come_," he tried to explain. "Can I, inside? Can I come inside?" 

"Oh, not yet, not yet, _please_," Aziraphale whined. He rode him even harder, which was so counterproductive. Crowley might have wept. 

"I'm gonna fill you up," Crowley said, because talking distracted him. If he said something stupid enough, he might be able to forestall it. "I'm gonna—I'm gonna get you stuffed full with it. I'm gonna knock you up w—"

Aziraphale slammed a palm over Crowley's mouth, shutting him up, which apparently was enough to send Crowley right over the edge because he immediately shot off while Aziraphale tried to ride him into oblivion. 

Crowley was quickly becoming too sensitive, and too soft, to allow Aziraphale to continue. He tugged at the hand on his mouth while Aziraphale moaned in frustration. "On my face," he begged once he was allowed.

"What?" 

"Sit on my face." Crowley tugged at Aziraphale, trying to maneuver him up. 

"_What?_ Are you sure?" Aziraphale, his white blonde curls damp with sweat and his chest heaving, looked at him like he was crazy. "I'm too heavy. What if I crush you?"

"Oh, fuck me," Crowley groaned, his cock twitching too soon. Aziraphale could be so stupid about these things. "Fuck yeah, _please_ sit on my face _now_." 

Aziraphale started to move and then froze, propped up over him. His fingers reached down to touch his pussy. "Oh, it's leaking," he told Crowley.

"What did you think it would do?" Crowley hissed, now pulling at him desperately. "Don't waste it," he pleaded, but it was without thinking and he wasn't totally sure why he'd said it. Aziraphale kindly kept his fingers stoppered against his hole while he shuffled where Crowley wanted him. Crowley slithered on his back, getting his head between Aziraphale's knees and grabbing up at his hips. 

"I feel very silly about this," Aziraphale said, one hand bracing against the wall he faced. He took his sticky hand away from his flushed, _leaking_ hole, steadying it against his own thigh. 

"Not silly," Crowley said, still trying to urge his hips down, straining upward to sloppily mouth at his thighs. Craning his neck, he caught a drip of his own seed mixed with Aziraphale's slick. 

The immediacy of Crowley's groan, the urgency of Crowley's hands, had Aziraphale settling into place finally, gasping as the hot muscle entered him. "Ah," he practically trilled, bearing down on Crowley's face like he hadn't been hesitant a few seconds before. Crowley clutched at the meat of his arse and worked his long tongue in as much as he could, suffocating himself on Aziraphale's clit and folds.

Aziraphale dug in, rode his face. His thighs shook as Crowley made him speak in tongues, or at least something pretty damn near it. It was nothing to get the angel to come like that, so Crowley determined to see how many orgasms he could force out of him before he fell off. Just then, Aziraphale was constricting tight over him, and the humming moans from Crowley's mouth were sending additional shocks through his wrecked system. One down. 

"Oh good!" he panted after a moment. Crowley thought it was simple praise until he felt Aziraphale shifting slightly, angling around to grab his aching, slowly rising dick. The grip was firm, would have seemed cruel from a different lover, and Crowley choked and gargled at the sensation. "Sorry," Aziraphale said, not meaning it. "I'm just glad it didn't take too long." 

Before Crowley could do anything, Aziraphale was hauling himself around so he could face Crowley's half–erect cock. Crowley figured he just wanted to play with it, which was fine because it was for him anyway, and he seated Aziraphale once more. Aziraphale groaned once, leaning forward, the heat of him burning a line down Crowley's chest and stomach. And then he took the tip of him in his mouth. 

Crowley's heels dug into the bed, his hold on Aziraphale turning bruising. Emboldened, Aziraphale took a little more in, his mouth so warm and his tongue pressing against him, mapping the skin of his cockhead with unexpected ease. In return for that surprise, Crowley nipped a little at his labia, making Aziraphale's hips twitch but otherwise proving a completely ineffective punishment. 

"It's still not quite hard," Aziraphale pulled off to tell him. "Is there something I can do better?" 

"No," Crowley nearly cried against his thigh when he pulled up expecting an answer. "It just takes a minute." 

"Ah, I see." Aziraphale went back at it, kissing and licking his cock, all the while happily rubbing his pussy against Crowley's mouth. Crowley was getting pleasantly overwhelmed with it all, his head buzzing from the lack of oxygen which he didn't really need but had grown accustomed to in many ways. 

One of his hands wandered, idly flicking over the pudge of Aziraphale's side, pinching here and there for his own satisfaction. The body was so entirely solid and firm and _heavy_, perfectly hot on top of him. He grabbed a handful of that plump flesh, because he could now, because he'd been given permission to do so and to have his way and to get what he had been wanting. Aziraphale pulled up, some kind of curious sound made that Crowley had felt in his chest more than heard, and Crowley took the opportunity to stretch out his tongue, to lap at him the way he was learning was most liked. 

Any question Aziraphale might have been forming was lost in the sound of his dawning orgasm. Crowley had to hold on tight as his hips rolled and he shook, weight settling even more insistent as Aziraphale chased the sensation. 

Crowley was just about to start working him over a third time, but Aziraphale pushed up and off of Crowley's shoulders. He came to recline beside him, his cheeks tinged pink and his lips a little wet. He leaned in so they could touch mouths, seeming more interested in licking the slick off of Crowley's lips and chin than giving him an actual kiss. 

"You're hard again," Aziraphale told him, one hand pressed against his chest, toying with his light, red chest hair. "You'll last longer this time." 

"Yeah, it's likely," Crowley said, taking a breath. Aziraphale was a wonder of desire and absolute idiocy. The combination, not for the first time, proved too much for Crowley's heart and mind, both of which reeled and battered.

Humming in his contentment, Aziraphale looked down at where Crowley's cock stood attentively. His hand curled down to rest on Crowley's flat stomach, fingers brushing against his carefully shaped pubic hair. His eyes flashed back to Crowley's, and they were bluer, holier, less tied to the mortal plane. "Mouth or queint?" he asked.

Crowley spluttered. "Don't say queint." 

Aziraphale looked delighted. "Is queint too vulgar?" he asked, excited to offend Crowley's sensibilities. 

"No one says quei—_that_ anymore." Crowley managed to get out, because really what else could he say to that? He must have still been blushing because Aziraphale didn't look convinced. He looked smug, like he'd caught Crowley in some little lie. 

"Should I put it in my mouth or my pussy?" he rephrased. 

Crowley felt himself sweating even without the heat of Aziraphale's touch. "What would you like?" 

"Well, it's a good mouthful!" Aziraphale said without needing to think. So, he'd already thought through, had opinions formed and the like. Crowley was going to let him suck on him to his heart's content; maybe penetration wasn't for them, or wasn't for tonight. Maybe it was too much too soon. Crowley had been selfish when he really thought about it, assuming Aziraphale would want a cock inside of him when Crowley hadn't even asked beforehand. He at least should have given him head and fingered him before they started. 

"Don't take this the wrong way," Aziraphale was saying, ducking his gaze. Crowley felt his cheeks tingle with embarrassment. He shouldn't have come so fast. He should have _asked_. He should have made his cock nicer, more attractive, worried less about his own ego and made it smaller, less intimidating. The first time he'd had taken a cock, Crowley had picked out a venerable stallion for himself, and he'd hurt himself enough that he'd almost sworn the whole thing off. 

"Don't worry about it, darling." Aziraphale leaned in, gave him a kiss on the side of his mouth. "Whatever it is, you don't need to worry." Crowley hadn't realized that he'd started biting his lip or that he was digging his nails into his palms. "You've been so terribly good to me, and here I am asking you for more. I am so very sorry. What can I do? What's wrong?" Aziraphale was easing his fist open, pulling it up into the safety of his own sturdy hands, kissing the knuckles and then, once uncovered, the slight marks on his palms. 

"Sorry," Crowley said. "I got in my head." 

"How dreadful." Aziraphale snuggled even closer, an arm coming to cover Crowley's waist so they could pull in close to each other. Aziraphale took his other hand to soothe it. "Let's just lie here a minute. Should we get under the covers?" Aziraphale held him tight, warmer than any rock he'd ever sunned himself on. 

"No," Crowley said. His erection had largely wilted, but he hoped Aziraphale wouldn't notice. Aziraphale sighed, eyes drifting shut for a long moment, and he breathed against Crowley's shoulder, taking the scent of his sweat like it was a comfort, like he didn't reek of Hell.

_Oh my God_. The thought burned him, stomach first, through his shoulders and knees, rattling parts of him which were separate and isolated. But how else could he comprehend it without the use of the Name? _He loves me_.

Their interlocked hands rested on his chest, over his beating heart. "What were you about to say?" Crowley asked, gripping Aziraphale's fingers. He held his breath. 

"Oh, it was ridiculous," Aziraphale assured him. "Nothing worth your concern." Something must have passed over Crowley's face then because Aziraphale relented, going on to say, "I was only going to tell you that you—well, that you needn't be so careful with me." 

Crowley turned his head to look at him.

"I know you're worried about my wings," Aziraphale looked more than a little self–conscious, and he cleared his throat. "And other problems I have with control. But I do think I have it under wraps. If you'd like to, well, put your back in it." He laughed weakly, and when Crowley kept looking at him without blinking, he clarified, "I mean you can go harder when you're inside of me." 

"I know what you mean. _Put my back in it_, really!" he scoffed. 

"It was nice when I was on top, wasn't it?" Aziraphale looked earnest in the question, hazel eyes wide and emphatic. "I liked it then. You seemed to as well."

"Well, yeah, of course." Crowley's mind spun and burned. 

"Good! I promise, I'm not on the verge of taking out the city block." Aziraphale pushed up a little. "We can call it a night now, if you'd rather."

Crowley had to keep himself from shouting. Of course that weren't going to call it a night. Aziraphale wasn't hurt. That was good. But he also wasn't satisfied, and Crowley couldn't have that. And, now that Aziraphale had said it, it sort of hurt Crowley's feelings that he didn't feel close to losing control. After all, he'd gotten Aziraphale's wings to come out just by copping a feel earlier. 

From the look on Aziraphale's face, it was clear he knew how tempted Crowley was. The manipulative bastard kept his eyes big, pseudo–guileless, but he couldn't keep the tiny smile from his mouth. Crowley, however, couldn't bring himself to tease back right then. It would have been so easy too, to play that he was going to sleep or going home. He was sure he could get Aziraphale to snatch his hand, keep him on the bed, and _beg_. But he couldn't do it, because he felt so tender, so helpless. 

He looked away to clear his head, and his eyes fell on the lilac, which had resprouted dark roots that were now pressing against the glass. The vase was overflowing with green leaves and vibrant blossoms. He chest pinched, pulling him back toward Aziraphale with an ache that had become almost identical to love over the years. 

"Turn onto your stomach," he said, sitting up to slide behind him, "and push your hips up." 

Aziraphale scrambled to do as asked, rear high, arms crossing in front of him on the bed. He looked back over his shoulder, eyes flaring blue, making his promise of control a little emptier. Crowley might have said something to calm him if he'd noticed, but his gaze was locked on the spread in front of him. Aziraphale's heavy, wide hips. His round arse. His swollen, flushed pussy. The hint of a tight pink anus. Aziraphale was practically wagging his hips in his face, and Crowley got one handful. The other hand came forward to rub his cunt, making Aziraphale jerk his hips forward and close his eyes. Crowley finally did look at his face, the open expression of rapture there, and he felt so happy. 

He let go of Aziraphale's sex and tugged a hand around his cock, jerking a few times to get ready, all while staring at Aziraphale's broad shoulders and blissed out face (and fat arse). "Do you want it bigger?" he asked, voice tight.

"Your cock?" Aziraphale said, opening his eyes.

Crowley's hand involuntary squeezed at the word coming out of Aziraphale's mouth. "Yeah." 

Aziraphale wet his lips, pushing up on his hand and knees to look at Crowley's length. "Wouldn't that bother you?" he asked. "The weight of it?" 

It shocked a laugh out of Crowley. Aziraphale smiled, not understanding what was funny. Crowley stopped just as abruptly as he started. "Are you serious?" When Aziraphale didn't respond, he continued, "Angel, haven't you ever had one?" 

"Once or twice." Aziraphale looked away from his eyes, back down at his cock. "I always thought I'd try out the other way more when I got bored with what I had. But I – " He snapped his mouth shut when Crowley started to show too many teeth in his smile. "You already big," Aziraphale stated, which was endearing in its ignorance, whether that ignorance was genuine or willful.

Crowley lay a palm on his shoulder and guided his chest back to the bed. Once Aziraphale was in the position he wanted, he lined up his cockhead and started to slip in. Spreading those buttery soft folds apart, kissing the tip against his pussyhole, Crowley kept his mouth shut, not wanting to risk missing any sound from Aziraphale, who exhaled at the prodding. His shoulder twitched as he tensed, and so Crowley pet a hand down his flank and slid his cock inside in one deep, smooth glide. 

He kept his hips flat against the plump of Aziraphale's arse, the angle so perfect it seemed that each of Aziraphale's sighs were quiet _oh_s and his toes curled so tight the muscles in his calves jumped. Crowley pressed his weight against him, allowing his chest to rest against Aziraphale's back, pushing down more and more. As he forced them deeper into the bed, Aziraphale's _oh_s got even breathier, higher. His soft, white hands clutched at the sheets over his head, rubbing his moans into the mattress.

"How's that?" Crowley rasped near his ear. He buried his nose in the nape of his neck, scenting the skin there with his tongue, sampling his sweat, the sweet tang of clean ozone. 

"Yes," was all Aziraphale could say—all he could _hiss_—and Crowley's hips snapped forward on their own accord, fucking a noise out of Aziraphale so brutal that Crowley almost felt sorry again. 

"Oh," Aziraphale whined, shaking his head against the pillow he'd clawed into his hands for support. Crowley thrust his hips, his spine sinewing so he could keep his weight on Aziraphale's back while starting to pump his cock in and out a little faster. "Oh, you wicked," Aziraphale choked, "_wicked_ thing." 

Crowley couldn't keep from groaning, from pulling back to get a grip on Aziraphale's haunches and really power into him. He got a full glimpse at Aziraphale, alabaster spread out on cream linen, white–knuckling the fabric because Crowley was going so hard and fast and strong. Crawling on his belly in the dirt had to have some benefits, and it was in moments like this, moments when Crowley could use his body so well, that he thought he might actually believe in a higher plan. 

And still Aziraphale looked over his shoulder, up through his eyelashes, fire burning forth from his seams, and he whispered, "_Harder_."

Crowley would stoke that fire. Crowley would make love to him like a mated bird falling through the air. Anything. He'd do anything. Crowley would make his wings pop. 

Maybe he'd fucked people harder, but he'd never fucked them like this—deep and wild. Aziraphale was singing his praise, hallelujahs, long streams of open–mouthed groans that were entirely shameless, debauched, and ancient. When Crowley growled that he should touch himself, the hand that came to his clitoris actually dipped further, touching where Crowley had burrowed into Aziraphale's slit. Fingers skated at the hot, stretched flesh there, and Aziraphale made something glass break. It might have been the light bulb, but the room stayed bright, Crowley grateful to keep enjoying the sight of Aziraphale's slick back and bouncing hips. 

Aziraphale clenched around him the minute he got a hand on his clit, crying out, and Crowley got an idea. Aziraphale was coming, but Crowley wasn't going to let up unless forced. He took the moment to slow his pace and pull a hand away and stick his thumb in his mouth, sucking it quickly and sloppy while Aziraphale spasmed on him. 

"Crowley, Crowley, Crowley," he was rambling, which was good, but Crowley figured they could do even better. Slamming his cock into Aziraphale's sensitive cunt, he brushed his wet thumb against his arsehole, startling Aziraphale and getting him to look back sharply. 

Not breaking eye contact, Crowley nudged his thumbnail in, Aziraphale's mouth a tight o as his eyes lit and Crowley sunk into both holes.

"Oh my God in Heaven above, oh my Lord," Aziraphale said, forehead falling back to the pillowcase, his cunt now convulsing hot and rhythmically as Crowley pushed in to the first knuckle. "Oh God, I love you," he babbled as his wings came out. "Oh, thank you, oh Almighty God, oh," he whined, as Crowley dug his other hand through feathers, grabbed hold of bone, right where the wing was closest to the skin of his back. He used the hold for leverage as he kept pounding into him, violent and devout, Aziraphale blessing him and praising the God Above and Within All Things, the feathers of his wings fluttering, like he was flying.

Crowley couldn't hold back. He slipped the finger out from Aziraphale's hole and thrust home a few more time before coming hard inside of him. The only reason Aziraphale wasn't limp under him was the grip he still had on his wing, which Crowley released promptly. Aziraphale slumped against the sheets with a hollow groan, and Crowley collapsed beside him, trying to get himself under his massive wings. He ruffled them enough that Aziraphale sighed and sent them away.

Aziraphale turned on his side facing Crowley and put a hand between his own legs to feel Crowley's come and hold it in. Crowley didn't have the strength to tell him it was going to cool and get even grosser soon, because Aziraphale looked so very pleased and peaceful playing in the mess for a moment. 

"Oh, no," Aziraphale breathed, eyebrows drawing.

"What?" Crowley pushed up, ready for anything. Aziraphale just gestured weakly at the desk table behind them. Crowley looked and saw that the lilac vase had shattered, the roots curling around the wood of the desk, searching for real soil, the blooms spilling down to the floor. No longer a cut flower, but a thriving bush. 

"Huh," Crowley said and lay back down. Aziraphale hesitated, so Crowley lifted an arm and let him huddle against his chest. "Did I put my back in it enough?" he asked, because he figured he should tease about it even if it wasn't very funny. 

"Satisfactorily." Aziraphale mumbled, eyes closing, breath soft against his collarbone. 

"Ouch," Crowley intoned, and Aziraphale snorted a laugh, which seemed all he could manage. "Are you gonna sleep?"

"No, I'm just pretending for a moment." 

Aziraphale was so still that Crowley wanted to drift away too, but things kept racing in his head as he tried to process the last twenty-four hours. And then Crowley had a thought, and it was the type he couldn't just pass along. He adjusted so he could look more at Aziraphale's face. "Hey," he said, "I've been wondering something for a while." Aziraphale didn't move, but he made a noise to make it clear he was listening. Crowley asked, "Haven't you been worried you’d Fall?”

“No.”

He sounded so certain, and it didn't make any sense. Aziraphale hadn't even stopped pretending to sleep. Crowley couldn't quite comprehend it. "How could you think this—fucking a demon—_making love_ to a demon—wouldn’t make you Fall?” 

Aziraphale sighed and finally opened his eyes. He met Crowley's gaze evenly, his hand coming to press over his chest, his heart. “It just never occurred to me. My love of God is tied up in my love of you—just like my love of silk and cotton, and books and rosés, and lamb and black forest cake. I’ve never been able to separate God from the things I like. You most of all.”

“I’m not food,” Crowley said. He was about to say _I’m a demon_, like Aziraphale could have forgotten.

“No, you're not food,” Aziraphale agreed. He met his gaze, unwavering and open. “You’re much better because you and I were created directly by the same hand. I could have watched your making, or you mine. The problem is,” and he finally hesitated. His fingers drummed against Crowley's chest. “The problem for me is just your unmaking. That is perhaps where I might get in trouble with God’s will.”

Crowley stared. He blinked. Aziraphale opened his mouth to try again. Crowley blurted out, “If you'd had it your way, we would have been caught in the 17th Century!”

“If I'd had it my way, I would have had you in Rome,” Aziraphale said. Crowley watched him, and Aziraphale continued, “I would have had you in Jerusalem. I'd have had you in Eden, before the Great Sin.” 

“You didn't know me then,” Crowley said. 

"Well," Aziraphale didn't even attempt to look shy. “That's the funny thing about love.”

* * *

The next day, after Crowley had a good 12 hours of sleep, an overindulgent breakfast with pastries and coffee and every meat available and eggs and potatoes, and then a four hour nap, Crowley swung by his apartment for a shower. With some trepidation, he ventured to look at his plants.

The greenroom was practically a jungle. The plants were overgrown and blooming and crossbred between ferns and flowers and shrubs which had no business doing anything together. The air was sweet, easy to breathe, and safe.

Taking it all in, Crowley couldn't even pretend to feel anything but warm.

**Author's Note:**

> I went on a family trip and then also my laptop got fried, so this took way longer to get up than I like. I'm sorry about that! Also I wanna thank everybody for their kind comments on the other parts of this series. I never know what to say in response, but I read all the comments (multiple times, because so many of you are so, so sweet!) and I just appreciate them so much. So, please comment on this one too if you can. It just means so much to me, even if I can't put the words together to thank you individually. 
> 
> Thanks again to my friend Gray for reading through this. Thanks for reading this series. I might keep adding to it, just because I like the format of love song/story. But this is all I have officially planned at the moment! 
> 
> Love and best wishes to each of you! God bless and keep you all! 
> 
> ([my tumblr](http://gigglesnortbangdead.tumblr.com))

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Until We Reach the Stream [podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22090390) by [pinafortuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinafortuna/pseuds/pinafortuna)


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